


the silence of your invitational smile

by ships_to_sail



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Dress Up, Kink Negotiation, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Patrick Brewer is a Canada Scout, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Rimming, soft boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21744631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/pseuds/ships_to_sail
Summary: "Do you mean to tell me we had an entire conversation-” Patrick raises his eyebrows to remind David that they’re in public and he is most definitely not using his inside voice “-that we had an entire conversation about lingerie this morning during which you didn’t tell me you actually liked dressing up like the poster boy for post-War queer identity?” He finishes this last bit in a whisper that is, somehow, no less quiet than his previous indignant voice.Patrick shrugs a shoulder, striving for nonchalance. “I still have them,” he says around a sip of coffee.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 16
Kudos: 145





	the silence of your invitational smile

**Author's Note:**

> Four fics in four days and it feels like it's time for some porn! 
> 
> Title is from ["why feel guilty because the death of a lover causes lust?"](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46633/untitled-poem-why-feel-guilty-because-the-death-of-a-lover-causes-lust) by Alan Dugan

"You know. I actually didn't hate it."

It's a Tuesday morning and they're three days past the premier of Cabaret, taking a quiet morning to themselves before opening the store a little later than usual. Patrick has waited for the exact moment David takes his last bite of waffles before picking up a conversation they’d been having in the shower that morning. It’s worth it to see David blanche and have to cough a little, his face turning red as he waves his hand in front of his face and attempts to get his breathing under control.

“Excuse me?”

“The suspenders were actually suspiciously comfortable.”

“That’s the tailored leather. Do you mean to tell me we had an entire conversation-” Patrick raises his eyebrows to remind David that they’re in public and he is most definitely not using his inside voice - “that we had an entire conversation about lingerie this morning during which you didn’t tell me you actually liked dressing up like the poster boy for post-War queer identity?” He finishes this last bit in a whisper that is, somehow, no less quiet than his previous indignant voice.

Patrick shrugs a shoulder. “I still have them,” he says around a sip of coffee, his voice nonchalant, as though he’s reminding David to pick up another bottle of the fancy mustard for their apartment. But there’s the smallest smile at the corner of his mouth that lets David know he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“And what, exactly, would ‘them’ be?”

“The suspenders. At home. I have them.”

“You stole from Jocelyn’s prop department?” Faux shock mingles with real surprise in his voice.

“I stole from your mother’s prop department.”

“Well then you must have a death wish.”

“More like I was thinking of seeing how they looked sans undershirt. To the right, receptive audience, of course.

“Oh.” David takes a long drink of water and Patrick lets his eyes slowly scan down what he can see of David’s body, sturdy shoulders and a broad chest, muscles in his shoulders and forearms kept hidden under layers of wool and mohair. Patrick loves everything about him, including the look he’s got on his face right now that means he’s putting together a new plan. Patrick just has to wait to be included.

“Would you be open to an, um, alternative arrangement?”

“Hm,” Patrick hums in the noncommittal way that means he’s listening to every word.

“First of all, I love you. Secondly, my mother once tried to strangle Rocky Nickles with his own necktie because he tried to trade out a second-act ballgown without having it properly fitted.”

“So you’re saying I should probably take the suspenders back?”

“Yes, mmhmm. What do you say you return the property of the Schitt’s Creek Public Theatre to the theatre and let me buy you something a little more…personal, instead.”

Patrick’s mouth goes dry and David watches him swallow several times, tracing his eyes along the vein in Patrick’s neck, the same path his tongue had traced the night before. He feels the familiar itch in his hands, to reach out and touch Patrick, to dig the pads of his fingers into the firm muscle that runs the breadth of his back and feel his thumbs come to rest at the tiny hollow where shoulder and neck meet. 

“That could work.” The way he says it, it’s like he’s agreeing to a rescheduled dinner date, but the way he’s looking at David is making him melt from the inside out, like he’s still hungry and wants him for dessert. It’s a look that makes the blood rush straight to David’s dick, which is inconvenient given that his brain is currently in overdrive putting this newly presented opportunity to the best possible use. “Under a few conditions.”

David nods, somehow managing to keep his voice level. “Of course.”

“Nothing too expensive.” He drops his voice, using the same tone he used when he promised David the grant money, “Nothing we can’t get dry cleaned. And no feathers.”

The sound of disgust that comes from David is enough to shatter any sexy tension that had been building, and it’s a good thing, too, because they’re already 15 minutes past the late-start time David pretended to bully Patrick in to. Patrick slid a $20 onto the counter and pulled a still sputtering David out the door and across the street. 

*

Time gets weird when you’re waiting to surprise your now-fiance with his first official lingerie. Well, David assumes it’s the first, given what he knows of Patrick, but then again. Here they are, and this is entirely Patrick's doing. David's body warms at the idea that there are whole universes of things left to learn about this man. 

Patrick's 'not too expensive' limit means that David isn't able to go with his original mental trousseau, but with a combination of constant internet vigilance and swearing Stevie to absolute pain of death secrecy, he's able to put something together he thinks Patrick is going to love. Once the final bit arrives, it's about finding the perfect time. David decides to do it closing night of Cabaret.

*

Patrick is floating on clouds. Their closing performance goes better than any of them could've imagined. They'd danced and sang and lived their roles to the fullest potential and, although she'd denied it when he'd asked, he swore he saw tears in Moira's eyes. He'd gripped Stevie's hand so tight during final curtain call he might have hurt her if she hadn't been squeezing just as hard back, and he found David in the audience, grinning at him so sincerely it threatened to break Patrick open.

When they find each other in the lobby of the theatre, Patrick's arms wrap around David like a vice. They're pressing into each other and the joy flowing between them practically crackles. Patrick presses his lips to David's neck and David nestles his cheek against the close crop of Patrick's hair. He ducks his head and whispers a few words lost to the crowd, and when he pulls back Patrick is looking at him in part like he's hung the moon and in part like he wants to rip his clothes off right there in the lobby.

Suddenly, there's no getting out of there fast enough. David's saying goodbye to his mom while Patrick finishes gathering his things from the dressing room and then they're both in the car, speeding across town and fighting to keep up a semblance of small-talk. When they're back at Patrick's, with the door closed and the quiet of their small life settling around them, David feels the mood between them shift in a way he feels like he can reach out and touch.

Instead, he leans back against the kitchen countertop and holds out his hand, putting a small smile on his face when he feels Patrick's warm, steady grip slip into his. "So I know it's been a while but I thought maybe we'd go back to red/green tonight?"

It's been a while since they've had to use the color system, but the tension rippling through Patrick's body and the shake of his exhale let David know that he's on the right track. 

Patrick nods and smiles, the gratitude and trust so openly apparent on his face that, for a moment, David is rendered literally speechless. "Sounds good."

And then Patrick leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth and it's like the snap of a starting gun. David grabs Patrick's hips firmly, pressing his thumbs into the bone as he walks him backwards to the bed, kissing him deeply and hissing when Patrick bites at his lower lip. He keeps their lips pressed together as he undresses Patrick, peppering kisses along his collarbone as he unbuttons his shirt, squeezing his ass as he helps Patrick slide his post-show sweats down and off his legs. As Patrick sinks to the bed, David lowers himself to his knees in a movement that has become more coordinated over time. They spend time locked together just like that, David on his knees on the floor in between the strength of Patrick’s thighs, Patrick’s arms wrapped around David, playing with the short hairs on the back of his neck in that way that makes him flush hot and cold at the same time. It feels like a delicious kind of agony to break the kiss, to allow cold air to fill the space between them, and if David hadn’t spent a significant amount of his last paycheck on what was about to happen next, he most likely wouldn’t. 

But all of this is just supposed to be a warm-up to the main event, so David puts as much space as he can tolerate between them, and clears his throat, meeting Patrick’s eyes and smiling as he watches the pupils return to normal size, noticing the rapid rise-and-fall of his chest slowing. “Color?”

“David.”

“Color?!”

“Green. Bright fucking green.”

David smiled. “Good. Lie down and close your eyes. Do you want a blindfold this time?”

There were times when Patrick melted into the darkness of the blindfold like a safety blanket. When David could literally see him go liquid, all of the tension draining out of his body. There were other times when even the mention of losing his senses in that way made his breath speed and his fingers twitch into fists. Tonight, he licked his lips and couldn’t seem to find a fixed point on David’s face to focus on. David reaches out and takes Patrick’s face in his hands, running his thumbs along his cheekbones and breathing a little louder, trying to get Patrick to synch up his breaths with David’s. “Babe, stay right here. Blindfold - color?”

“Red.” Patrick’s voice was husky, low and more vulnerable than David was anticipating. He nods and presses a quick kiss to Patrick’s forehead before pushing on Patrick’s knees for leverage and sitting back on his heels.

“That’s perfect. You're perfect, babe. Do you - can you - keep your eyes closed for me? I’d like to think the surprise is at least, like, 28% of the impact of this moment.”

“28%, huh?”

“Well. I don’t want to undersell the outfit.”

Patrick laughs and David laughs with him and just like that, Patrick closes his eyes and leans back on his forearms, his breaths steady and even and David wants to paint him in god damned oils like a baroque portrait. Instead, he takes three deep breaths and then stands. He’s hidden everything he needs in the back of the bottom dresser drawer, where he keeps his large collection of sweaters that Patrick has learned by experience not to mess with. He pulls out the small box and several small bags, hesitating as he closes the dresser and making up his mind at the last second, crossing quickly to the living room and grabbing his black duffle bag off of the floor.

And then he’s back at Patrick’s side. Patrick can feel him on the bed, the mattress shifting under David’s weight as he begins to dress Patrick. David’s broad hand between his shoulder blades pushes him up off his forearms and then he’s lifting his arms at David’s gentle touch. He feels three thin straps wrap around his upper back, three even spaced strips of leather that hiss gently across his skin. A fourth strap that wraps around the front, right at the top of his ribcage. A series of metal rings press firmly into his skin, Patrick thinks he can count seven but he’s not sure, the dueling sensations of hot and cold, soft and hard, confinement and freedom making his head spin. A thin strap wraps under his pecs and that one feels like satin, a small expanse of fabric he can’t quite identify ghosting up and over his nipples, and then David’s fingers are at his collarbones, tracing around his neck, and a fabric that feels heavy wraps around his throat. He hisses in a breath sharply, swallowing against the new weight. He sways a little when David pulls him to his feet, and he’s desperate to open his eyes. But then he feels David pressing against him, steadying him as a warm breath ghosts over his ear. “Color?”

Patrick takes a moment this time. Not because he’s not enjoying what they’re doing, but because he’s Patrick. He takes his time to think through his answers, and he knows his controlled ability to do that, even now, is one of the things that drives David wild. “Green.”

“Then lift your left leg. Now your right.” He puts his hands on David’s shoulders and shudders as he feels David’s strong, slim fingers slide beneath the waistband of his underwear, guiding them down Patrick’s legs with a gentle, worshipful reverence. He holds his breath while David shifts his weight slightly and then taps Patrick gently on the ankle, getting him to lift first his right leg and then his left, a mirrored movement that makes Patrick feel like he’s dancing. Patrick smiles as the flesh on his legs breaks out in goosebumps, the scratch of the fabric sparking a million nerves along his hips. It takes him a second to realize David isn’t putting on underwear - there’s nothing around his ass now, leaving him fully exposed as whatever this is settles around Patrick’s hips, a firm belting around the waist and a flutter of fabric that ghosts over his hips. David’s hands are back on his feet, wrapping them in the familiar stretch of silk and spandex that Patrick recognizes as pantyhose. David rolls them up each leg, the fabric stopping just at the top of his knee, the thin stretch of a garter belt giving Patrick a pin-point of feeling to focus on. He can practically see himself, dick hard and red and fully evident, his skin flushed and his breathing fast as he stands there with his eyes closed.

“Patrick?”

“Yellow? I need - it’s a lot. I need a minute.”

David nods and takes a step back, giving Patrick space to breathe. It’s the perfect chance for David to take his turn, quickly and quietly stripping to his own underwear - European cut black-on-black boxer briefs that hugged him in all the places he knew Patrick liked best. He doesn’t even bother folding his Ferragamo sweater as he slips the mess of leather straps up over his shoulders and around his thighs. He grunts and swears quietly under his breath as he readjusts himself - he’s forgotten to account for the height difference between himself and Patrick. When he’s finally done, he steps back up to Patrick and lets his hands press heavily onto the tops of his shoulders, his thumbs tracing gentle lines along his collarbone.

“When you’re ready, open your eyes.”

It takes longer than David expects, but when Patrick’s long eyelashes finally flutter open, there’s a hazy hunger there that knocks him over with want. It takes a beat for Patrick’s eyes to focus on him, and when he does, his jaw drops.

“Where did you get that?”

David takes the smallest second to preen, the smile on his face open and radiant - he looks stunning in Patrick’s Emcee costume, and he knows it. The straps across his chest form an x-shaped indentation into the dark hair scattered across David’s chest, like an ancient treasure map that’s just for Patrick. The way the leather wraps around his thighs makes it clear how strong they are, and Patrick wants to dig his fingers in deep enough to leave bruises. And, of course, the way the leather criss-crosses his body draws Patrick’s eyes straight to David’s dick, which is outlined clearly enough even without the added emphasis. Patrick licks his lips and swallows thickly, struggling to hear David’s answer over the rush of blood in his ears. 

“This old thing? You’re not the only one with tricks, my dear.”

“So, Stevie?”

“Stevie and a cold $50, yes.”

Patrick starts to laugh, but then David moves and Patrick can see himself in the mirror and the sound catches in his throat.

David has picked pieces that makes it looks like Patrick has wrapped himself in vines, black brocade and smatterings of silk blend with the leather and satin and metal in a way that is part masculine, part feminine, a contradiction in terms that make Patrick feel like David’s seeing him all over again with a completely new set of eyes. He thinks he can feel the sting of tears in his eyes, but he can’t look away from the mirror, from this new version of himself that David has created. 

“What do you think?” David’s standing behind Patrick and chewing at the skin on the corner of his thumb, nerves suddenly hollowing out the pit of his stomach. It’s a lot, he knows, and certainly might be more than Patrick had in mind for his first go-round with this sort of thing. He should’ve stuck with the basic Fenti set, but then he’d seen this and - well, something about it just screamed Patrick. The flowers in the stitching reminded him of the store, and the silver rings currently sitting just below Patrick’s nipples reminded him of his own four silver rings he’d just traded up. He loves it, and he loves Patrick in it, but Patrick hasn’t said anything since David moved out of the way of the mirror.

Patrick catches his eyes in the mirror, his face serious and intense. He makes sure David isn’t looking away when he says, voice breaking on the whisper, “David.”

And then he spins and crushes their bodies together, wrapping his fists in the straps and pulling David to him. David almost loses his footing and for a split second it feels like Patrick is holding him there, suspended, until he finds his feet again and grips Patrick’s hips viciously, grinding down on Patrick’s thigh so Patrick can feel how turned on this entire night has made him. Patrick groans and presses up into David, hungry for more, more friction and more pressure and more of this brilliant, beautiful man. David licks into Patrick’s mouth and smiles, spinning them as they walk backwards until Patrick’s thighs hit mattress and they’re back where they first began before they started playing dress-up.

David sits back on his heels and stares at Patrick, who reaches down and wraps four short, broad fingers around his cock, stroking slowly and refusing to break eye contact with David. He hears a small hum in David’s throat as his pupils stretch to the size of dinner plates. He feels...sexy, Patrick decides. Moreso than usual, although he’s touched himself in front of David dozens of times. Seeing the flashes of his skin through the flowered silk, feeling the slide and stretch of the leather move across his upper back, it puts him in his body in a way he’s unfamiliar with, makes all of this feel like the new discovery of an old favorite song. David just watches him, corner of his mouth caught between his teeth, and Patrick begins to speed up, stroking himself faster while his other hand catches one of his own nipples underneath the needlework fabric, the rough fabric and hard pressure of his fingers making spots float in the corner of his vision.

“Fuck,” he moans, drawing out the word long and low and filthy, exactly the way he’s heard David say it so many times.

“You are beautiful,” David says the word like it’s a stand-in for a million better ones, but it’s all Patrick has ever wanted to hear. David leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the inside of each knee. And then another kiss, half an inch higher. And then another, and another, until his breath is warm where it ghosts over Patrick’s balls. Patrick’s stopped moving his hand, holding his dick steady and firm at the base for David, who ducks his head and sucks lightly on the tip, using his tongue to swirl up the traces of pre-come he finds there, salty and musky and entirely Patrick. “I want to eat you out, just like this.”

Patrick nods and lets his upper body fall back, flat against the bed. He tries to shimmy down the bed without hiking up the garter belt, but his concerns are unnecessary when David wraps strong hands around the back of his knees and pulls him in one swift move. He pushes Patrick’s knees into his chest and Patrick exhales, feeling his body begin to relax just as David blows a long, cold stream of air over his hole. He hisses and his hips buck, but then David is there, strong forearm pressing him into the bed.

“Hey, hey hey,” David’s voice is soothing, his thumbs massaging small circles into the backs of David’s thighs. “I’ve got you.” And then his tongue is pressing firm, and flat, and warm against Patrick and his vision is going white and it’s - it’s perfect. Usually he’s the one eating David out, preferring to feel the stretch and feel of David inside him, but holy fuck if it’s always going to be like this they may need to mix it up more often.

David is fucking into him with his tonge, softly at first, running his tonge around the pucker of skin several times before licking into Patrick, feeling him open beneath his touch. He takes his time, alternating broad strokes with pinpointed sensation, sucking occasionally, his dick twitching at the panting, animal sounds Patrick is making above him. He’s at his best when he’s taking Patrick apart, watching the miracle of this solid, laced-up guy disassembling himself for David, breaking himself into a million pieces for David to lovingly reassemble. He’s pissed at himself for not taking off the harness before he stared, because now he’s got his face buried in Patrick’s ass and he can’t get his dick out and he’s rubbing one out through the fabric when Patrick begins to beg for more and David has no choice but to oblige.

He fucks his tongue into Patrick as far as it will go, picking up speed and adding a constant, light suction as one hand squeezes Patrick’s balls and the other presses lightly on Patrick’s perineum, the soft skin hot to the touch. He can feel Patrick jerking himself off, feels the speed increase as the noises coming out of Patrick’s chest become more frantic, more high-pitched, until there’s a moment of silence, a single second where the whole world seems to stop and grow quiet and the universe balances on the head of a pin. David wants to live in that moment forever, but he can feel his own orgasm building in his lower back and he needs a hand back to take care of it so he licks hard and broad against the red, swollen skin of Patrick’s entrance and that does it, sends Patrick over the edge and he’s gritting his teeth and coming on his chest and David drops a hand to his own erection and ruts into his hand, the cotton already damp and warm with precome. It only takes a matter of seconds before his coming in his underwear like a teenager, only when he was a teenager he’d never been lucky enough to have a man like Patrick in bed with him.

David takes a moment, sits back on his knees and rests his chin on his chest in an attempt to catch his breath. But Patrick can’t stand to have so much space between them, so he sits up and pulls on the leather straps where they sit on David’s shoulders, guiding him up and into the bed. When he lays back down, their heads are pressed together and their hands find one another in the sheets, fingers weaving together.

They fall asleep before they manage to say much, no more than shared ‘I love you’s before the gentle buzz of the heater combines with the post-adrenaline crash and they’re both passed out. But when David wakes, several hours later, he finds Patrick curled up next to him, naked the garterbelt, stockings, and bra all folded and placed in a shallow cedar box, lined with tissue paper. It’s not something David has ever seen before, which means Patrick bought proper lingerie storage without knowing when all of this would happen. It’s so completely something he would do that the affection David feels is enough to make him go weak in the knees.

“I promise that I will do my best.” Patrick’s voice is rough with sleep, and when David turns around to look at him, his hair looks like he’s been out running through a hurricane. But he’s smiling, and holding his arms back out to David, and David’s feet are moving of their own accord, being pulled by a gravity that is pure love for Patrick. His sleep-slow hands undo the buckles on the harness as quickly as he can, and leaves them in a heap when he slides back into bed, nestling his taller body up against Patrick’s smaller one, folding himself until he fits in a place the universe carved out just for him.

“My boyfriend, the Canada Scout.”

“Always. And it’s fiance now.”

Patrick says it when he’s already halfway asleep, but the word sends a bolt of electricity straight through David.

“Fiance, then,” he whispers to no one in a room full of them both.

**Author's Note:**

> The pieces David finds are based on [these](https://www.cristinaaielli.com/collections-the-velvet-garden/16/cristina-aielli-neckline-soft-cup-bra) [two](https://www.cristinaaielli.com/collections-her-black-flowers/48/cristina-aielli-garter-belt) pieces from Cristina Aielli that I would have in my own human hands right now if being a fanfic author made any money.


End file.
